


he's not here (sambucky a.u)

by buckysfilms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Confusing, Love, M/M, Multiple Universes, Sam and Bucky - Freeform, jumps around scenes a lot but that's the purpose, kinda soft, mentall illnesses, schrodinger's cat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 08:50:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19314763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckysfilms/pseuds/buckysfilms
Summary: to the observer he was either dead or alive. to sam, he was gone, but it never stopped him from believing that if things were different, james buchanan barnes would still be lying in his arms every night.





	he's not here (sambucky a.u)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the film "i'm not here"

 

 

> _"need you, i never wanted to, but you_ _got so far away i couldn't get to you_  
>  _i hope you feel us for the rest of your life, take all the chances you can, it's all right"_
> 
> _\- i'm not here (original score) by me + t_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The water’s starting to run slow and the lights are beginning to flicker off. Inside the apartment we see a man in his late twenties, sitting on a chair. He is indeed in his late twenties, yet he looks as if time passed him by way too fast. There are dark circles underneath his eyes and his skin is starting to feel like paper. He feels as if he’s going to wither away any moment now.

 

This man is Sam Wilson and he’s all alone.

 

Except, he isn’t entirely alone. As an unknown observer is watching him stare at the rusted blue metal box. Inside that box is either dead or alive. Unless under observation. And that is what Sam Wilson is doing right now while he feels as if the whole world is going to crash down on him.

 

Observing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam Wilson was fond of keeping things that had a sentimental value inside _boxes_. These boxes may be made of wood or metal or even the usual cardboard— Sam will keep everything he cherished inside them. Memories for Sam were not only something in your head that replays itself like a video. Memories for him were also embedded in things. The cat figurine on your grandmother’s shelf has seen more life than you have. The small piece of paper with the scribbled _‘I love you’s’_ passed from that boy who sat in front of the class has traveled more distances than one person has. The dog tag with your names carved in with a heart in between held the most positive aura than the happiest person alive. Sam Wilson was a big believer of the beyond. And beyond every single memory, every _imagination_ , every smile and touch and laughter, there was _him_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“I like your science experiment, might write a book about it someday.”_

_“Thanks… It’s not really mine though, its Schrodinger’s.”_

_“Oh… I love cats. You like cats?”_

_“Uh, yeah. I do.”_

_“Great. Now we have one thing in common. What are the other two things you like so I can tell you that I’m into them too?”_

_“What?”_

_“Go out on a date with me?”_

_“I don’t even know your name.”_

_“It’s James.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sam Wilson loved cats but he never owned one. His grandmother though, owned an American Shorthair named _Misty_. Sam loved Misty but Misty hated him. When Sam was 9, Misty jumped from a cupboard in the kitchen and landed straight into Sam’s arms and scratched him on the left side of his face. It left a small light scar on his cheek which was not that visible now. But if one would trace their fingers over that side of his face, they would feel a small bump, a little reminder that sometimes not all that we love can love us back the same way as we love them.

 

Nine year old Sam didn’t cry when the sting from the flesh wound flamed up as his mother patched it up. Yet he did cry when he realized that Misty was not very fond of him. Poor little Sammy.

 

Sam’s grandmother then gave him a cat figurine she had on her shelf for years, as a little gift and companion for him in his room in their new house in New York. Except Sam forgot to pocket the gift and he left the small grinning cat on his grandmother’s shelf where it sat for nine years until his grandmother passed away and at 18, Sam Wilson only inherited the little figurine and that porcelain cat which he named _Misty no. 2_ now stays inside his wooden box of memories of his _family_.

 

_Misty no. 2_ never saw the sun again until Sam met _James_. Misty no. 2 was the first one that witnessed the very first moment Sam finally found someone who loved him back as much as he loved them.

 

And the grinning cat figurine smiled the widest as it stood on the mantel in Sam’s apartment beside the framed Polaroid of two men smiling at each other, unaware of the camera in front of them and with _“Sam and Bucky against the world”_ scribbled neatly below it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**_THUD!_ **

****

Sam wakes up to the sound of an object crashing to the floor. From the sofa he’s sitting on, he could see the object shining, a few feet away from the mantel in the living room. It’s _Misty no. 2_ , and it is as if some invisible force wanted Sam to wake up from his wallowing slumber—pushes the porcelain cat off the mantel to wake the drunk man in the room.

In his half-asleep state, Sam slowly makes his way towards the object. As he picks up the figurine, his telephone rings from the kitchen but he ignores it while running his fingers through the chipped nose of the cat. Sam lets the telephone ring for a moment while he busies himself by staring at Misty no. 2, until the answering machine then picks it up.

 

“Sam, its Gideon.” His brother’s voice fills the quiet apartment, “The funeral is this Saturday. Buddy, I know it’s hard for you right now. It’s hard for us too, knowing you’re there, in a really bad state,”

 

Sam lets out a scoff.

 

“People are expecting you to say something for the funeral. Plus, you were _his_ Sam. He would want you to say something.” Gideon continues, his voice cracking through the speakers of the machine. “Sam, please think this through. Don’t blame yourself about what happened. It wasn’t your fault. Bucky—”

 

_‘No, don’t you dare say his name. He said so himself that I’m the only one who’s allowed to call him **Bucky**.’ _

“—won’t want you to waste your life away over alcohol. Samuel, sober up and call us back. We love you.”

 

_“Sober up.”_ Sam hated that phrase. Every time James would say to him, he wanted to bury himself deeper. Somewhere. Away from everything.

 

Sam stares at the figurine on his hand. The uneven eyes of the cat stares back at him. Shiny. Black. Far. Far away.

 

“No.” Sam says to the inanimate object as if it’s talking to him, “I can’t sober up. He’s not coming back anymore. _He’s not here._ ”

 

And Sam finds himself kneeling down on the floor, sobbing and shaking as the memories, both happy and sad came rushing back to him as the rusted blue metal box stares at him from where he hid it—underneath the couch by the fireplace in the living room, next to cardboard box that had the label **“Schrodinger’s kitty cat: Dead or Alive?”**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_“What are these?”_

_“Uhh… Papers?”_

_“These papers, Sam… They’re nothing but nonsense, why do you have them inside a box?”_

_“First of all, don’t call your little poems and notes for your sci-fi novel, nonsense, Bucky. And second, I like to keep things.”_

_“My nonsen- notes are embarrassing.”_

_“Shut up. I love them and I love you. So never be insecure about what you write.”_

_“God, I love you so much.”_

_“Now get your white ass here and write me a love letter.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

People usually write in journals as a way to remember certain events in their lives. Or to keep notes of different things that interests them. Or even just to write their daily thoughts and own literature. Sam did not write journals. It never struck him the way collecting things in boxes did. But _James_ on the other hand, had his fair share of journals kept around.

 

James loved words. Words for him, were different in a sense that they were powerful on their own. James believed that they were more powerful than actions if used the right and even the _wrong_ way. He was also a big believer of the beyond. And beyond the words he wrote, both real and unreal, the letters he kept and the smiles, kisses and touches he gave, there was _Sam_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sam finds himself looking through the cupboards in his messy kitchen, searching for food. All he found was a rotting apple, one last bottle of vodka (which he downed in the very moment he saw it) and a box of cereal which housed a couple of cockroaches.

 

Turning around, Sam spots the refrigerator which was once of the color white, now starting to look more of a beige. It still has a decent amount of magnets stuck on it, but most were misplaced and the others were broken. The fridge used to be filled with small candid polaroids of James when he was on a mule train to _Bucky_ _land_ , staring out the window while trying to come up with the correct words for the science fiction he was trying to write. The science fiction which he never finished.

 

Now the only thing that is stuck on the fridge was a grocery list. Written by Bucky. Signed with a _xoxo_ beneath the list. It was written the day before the incident. The last grocery list Bucky ever wrote. Since then, Sam never bought anything else. That list just stayed stuck on the fridge for almost a week, while Sam stayed in his room and the living room most of the days.

 

Sam takes the list and stares at what was written. One of the things Sam loved about Bucky was how neat he wrote stuff.  His penmanship was beautiful. Clean. Clear. This was why Bucky was the writer in the relationship. As Sam’s eyes traveled through the words: _bread, eggs, peanut butter or Nutella? Too much sugar... speaking of sugar, we need to buy another pack._ Another word then catches his eye. _…UNIVERSITY_.

 

A grin creeps up to Sam’s lips. _His_ Bucky literally tore from his university notebook, instead of using an empty notepad. Bucky could write on any surface as long as he had a pen and Sam could feel his heart slowly tear itself from the memories. His eyes light up as he remembers something and rushes out of the kitchen and towards their bedroom. He runs his fingers across the wall, trying to find the mark. And then he finds it.

 

Just beside the only poster of _Edith Piaf_ on the wall, are the words written by Bucky:

 

_Sam and Bucky first met in **…** The start of everything. The beginning of the happy days._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sam first interacted with James in a college party. He was a mere 22 while James was still turning 21. Both were liberal arts students with the hopes of changing the world, one step at a time. Sam knew James as the boy who sat in front of him in class. James knew Sam as the hot boy who walks past him and straight to his seat in the back.

 

Both developed a crush on each other during those tiny moments in the classroom. The tiny stolen glances, the sharp intakes of breathe as one passes the other, the quick whiff of each other’s cologne. James thought Sam smelled like _home_. Sam thought James smelled like the ocean breeze.

 

In that college party, Sam couldn’t take his eyes off the boy who already tied his hair up into a small man bun, yet leaving a few strands astray. He looked so pretty that when he raised the red cup to his lips, Sam wondered how it would felt like to kiss him. To kiss the _pretty boy_ from across the room.

 

 

* * *

 

****

**_“Alone_ ** _?”_

_“Now that **you’re here** , I’m not.”_

_“Name’s Sam Wilson. So is James your real name or…”_

_“Well, my full name is James Buchanan Barnes. People call me James. Friends call me Bucky.”_

_“So what am I? People or friends?”_

_“How about you kiss me and we’ll see.”_

* * *

 

 

Sam could still remember how James tasted that night. Cheap beer. Peppermint. Sweet. Bitter. Bittersweet. It was the word used to describe the feeling when Sam chugs down the alcohol on the nights when Bucky comes home late. Smelling different. Those nights were the worst nights for the both of them.

 

There was always that thick tension in the air. The jealousy running deep through Sam’s veins. The heavy breathing of a pissed off Bucky. Drunk and jealous Sam versus a pissed off Bucky was not a good mix. Everything between them always ended up in broken plates and headaches the morning after, which one will be nursing in their bedroom while the other in the living room.

 

 

_“ **Alone**?”_

_“What?”_

_“Surprising you came home alone.”_

_“What are you trying to say, Sam?”_

_“I was expecting… Some, I don’t know. Some person clinging to your arms right now ready for tonight’s little fuck session.”_

_“Where the fuck did you even get that idea?”_

_“Just shut your mouth and save your alibis for someone gullible. That ain’t me. Gullible.”_

_“You think I would cheat on you?”_

_“No, Bucky. I don’t think. I know.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sam wished he knew what would’ve happened that day. The day after Bucky wrote the grocery list for Sam to buy. The day after Sam gave _his_ Bucky the customized dog tag. The tag that had their names carved, with the word _forever_ etched below it. It was their 4th year anniversary. The day after Bucky wrote the list, he asked Sam to take Becca with him to the supermarket.

 

It was late dusk when Sam drove with Bucky’s 16 year old sister, Becca towards the supermarket while Bucky stayed back in the apartment. Just a kilometer away from the market, Sam realized that they left the grocery list stuck on the fridge.

 

“Shit. I have to go back and get it.” Sam said.

 

“Language! And yes, you really have to get the list. You know how angry Bucky would be if we miss some.” Becca rolled her eyes at the thought of her brother. “Gosh, what a perfectionist.”

 

Sam laughed at her statement. Bucky was indeed, in some way, a perfectionist. But Sam loved him even if it began to get annoying when Bucky would start listing down the specifics.

 

“Just drop me off here.” Becca said as they neared an intersection.

 

“Wait, why?”

 

“I want to get to the supermarket first and you’re boring in the car.” Becca replied, smiling. “Just kidding. But like, car rides. I’m not a fan of them, remember? And you have to go back to your apartment again and I hate the ziggy-zagging.”

 

“You sure?” Sam asked as he slowed the car towards the side walk for Becca.

 

“Yes,” Becca opened the car door, “I’m a big girl now, Sammy. I can walk. Now go before you get a ticket or something for stopping your car.”

 

“You’re a big girl who has no idea how the rules on the street work. Plus, you’re still a little girl to me and your brother.”

 

“You two are so overprotective sometimes. Okay go, bye-bye. See you at the supermarket.” She closed the passenger door and waved at Sam as he backed up the car and drove away back to the direction of his apartment. Not knowing that things were going to get worse.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_“I lied.”_

_“Lied? About what?”_

_“About friends calling me Bucky.”_

_“Oh…”_

_“Only my younger sister calls me Bucky and she’s the most important person to me. Well, until…”_

_“Until?”_

_“Until now… Now that I’ve met you.”_

_“You’re such a sap.”_

_“I’m not kidding. You can call me Bucky. C’mon, say it.”_

_“Okay… ‘Bucky, will you kiss me?’ Hah! Has a nice ring to it.”_

_“Ask me the question again, Sam.”_

_“Bucky, will you kiss me?”_

_“Certainly.”_

 

* * *

 

 

_“Hi, you must be Becca.”_

_“And you must be Bucky’s boyfriend. That’s so cute.”_

_“Oh, really?”_

_“You make my older brother happy and it makes me happy to see him that way, Sammy. Is it okay if I call you Sammy?”_

_“As you wish.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sam wished he knew what was going to happen once he arrived back in the apartment. After dropping Becca a few kilometers away from the market when they realized that they left the grocery list Bucky wrote. Sam wished that he dropped her off somewhere nearer, where she didn’t have to cross the street. He also wished he knew that as soon as he stepped inside the kitchen, he would notice that something didn’t feel right. It smelled like cigarettes and Bucky did not smoke. Instead of getting the list from the fridge, Sam went straight to the bedroom where he found Bucky in bed with another man. A man Sam knew too well.

 

Then somebody’s phone rang filling the silence. It was Sam’s and the moment it did, both of the men who were in bed turned their attention to Sam who was standing by the doorway.

 

“Sam—” Bucky started to say, but before he can say anything, Sam walked out of the room and their apartment, trying to hold back his tears. Bucky already promised him before that what happened between him and _Dmitri_ was just a mistake.

 

A big fucking mistake.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_“Buck, meet Dmitri Sitwell. Dmitri’s an old friend of mine from high school.”_

_“Hey Dmitri. It’s a pleasure meeting you.”_

_“ **Pleasure’s all mine.** ”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

The answering machine makes a noise again, snapping Sam away from his thoughts.

 

“Sam… It’s Dmitri.”

 

  _Fuck you._

 

“I’m sorry. Look, _he_ needs you to be there this Saturday.” Dmitri says coarsely through the phone, “I’m so sorry. Again.” And that was it. That was all that Dmitri could muster out to Sam.

 

_Fuck you, Dmitri._ That was all Sam could think of too.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Get out of my face.” Sam sneered at Bucky who was standing by the kitchen doorway. “A day after our fucking anniversary and you do this to me?”

 

Bucky stayed silent.

 

“I did so much for you. Stopped drinking, stopped wallowing away somewhere. Tried to make things work out for us.” Sam said as he tore his eyes away from Bucky, trying to blink away the tears. “Was it the dog tag? You hated it? You didn’t like it? Looked too cheap for you?”

 

All Sam got was another silence. The answer of a fool, they said.

 

“You know what, just don’t say anything. James. Just go away. Get out. Don’t bother coming back. Just don’t.”

 

And that was all what Bucky wanted to hear. He left and never came back.

 

 

He left Sam doubting. Doubting everything that has ever happened to them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“So, I know it’s not much.”_

_“Are you kidding me Sam? I love it.”_

_“Really?”_

_“A fucking dog tag with our names, simple yet it means so much.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“I- love you.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Gideon showed up in Sam’s apartment, later that evening, Sam was still in doubt. He was in so much doubt that he began to feel numb and felt as if he was drowning as Gideon’s words were all mixing up. Sam did not know which word came after the other anymore.

_“James… Accident… Barnes… Car… Out from nowhere… Dead… Not your fault… Sam… Answer me.... Please._ ”

 

Sam couldn’t say anything. Silence was all Gideon got. All Sam could give was silence because he was a fool. Then, suddenly, Sam spoke.

 

“It’s all my fault.” It came as a whisper, “If I haven’t left her.”

 

“It’s isn’t your fault. Sam, listen to me.” Gideon said, “Don’t blame yourself.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Look at this.” Bucky held up a candid polaroid of him and Sam, “Becca took this in New Year’s Eve and I think it’s really pretty.”

 

“I think I could be a good photographer.” Becca said as she grabbed the photo from Bucky.

 

Sam smiled at her, “I think so too. I also think I have a spare picture frame to put that in so we can display it on the mantel.”

 

“Wait!” Becca exclaimed, running towards Bucky’s desk and grabbing a marker. She then placed the photo on top of the desk and wrote something on the empty space below. “There…”

 

She then holds up the photo to Sam and Bucky. Scribbled below the photo was _Sam and Bucky against the world, taken by Becca Barnes._

 

“Wait, why?” Bucky asked Becca as he stood beside Sam while slipping an arm around his waist.

 

“Because, I think it looks awesome and sentimental if there’s a description below it.”

 

“Looks dirty.” Bucky teased.

 

“Shut up Bucky.” Becca stuck her tongue out on him then turned to Sam, “Sam, what do you think?”

 

“It looks awesome.” Sam agreed with her while elbowing Bucky.

 

“Sam’s the only person who deserves rights in this household.” Becca replied before she got tackled down on the floor by her older brother. “Get off me and go write your science fiction, Bucky!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“How is your science fiction going to go?”_

_“Well, I want to write about us. A fictional us. Probabilities and the beyond.”_

_“That’s interesting.”_

_“And I’m going to use that experiment you showed in class for fun.”_

_“Schrodinger’s cat?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Physicists will come after you, you know that right?”_

_“Shush. I did my research, Sam. Don’t worry, its satire. I’m twisting it to my advantage coz its fiction.”_

_“Is our relationship is satirical to you too?”_

_“Shut up. You know it’s not.”_

_“It better not be.”_

_“Our relationship is real. Unlike Schrodinger’s imaginary cat.”_

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The water no longer runs and the lights finally give out. The young man who looks as if the days got to him, finally stands up from the chair he was sitting in. He takes five small steps towards the metal box perched on top of the coffee table, then he picks it up.

 

This man is Sam Wilson and he _looks_ alone.

 

With shaking hands, Sam decides to open the rusted blue metal box in his hand. He flips the latch, opens the top and as soon as he does, the memories of _him_ start rushing in like a cold breeze on a warm summer’s day. The memories, both beautiful and heartbreaking.

 

Inside the box is Sam’s version of Schrodinger’s cat. Instead of an imaginary cat, the contents were everything Bucky ever held. It is all of him and at the same time all of Sam. From the letters and photos and the dog tag.

 

As Sam stares at the contents inside it, he begins to wonder about the so-called experiment Bucky wanted to do. The moment he opened the box, was the experiment a failure or a success.

 

Suddenly, Sam hears the apartment door open, light from hallways comes streaming in and a familiar voice which brings tears into Sam’s eyes fills the dim and silent room.

 

 

“Sam, baby. Things are hard so right now and we left everything in a very bad conclusion. But I need you as much as you need me. Can we please talk?”

 

 

Sam holds the box up to his chest, close to his heart as more tears start to fall from his eyes. He came back. _He’s right here_.

 

 

 

 

**fin.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> \--  
> i know it's super confusing because i basically just messed up events that may or may have not happened in sam and bucky's relationship. the first time he met bucky was when he was asked to talk in front of the class about an experiment and sam decided to go with schrodinger's cat.. ("all of this happened offscreen" -Russos 2k19) okay, joke's aside, bucky was invested on the experiment.
> 
> bucky loved writing and he wanted to write a science fiction novel using the schrodinger's cat experiment to satirized the fact that sci-fi authors loved to twist the experiment and the many worlds interpretation. The thing is that, bucky wrote about possiblities about him and Sam. Both happy and sad, good and bad. Either they happened or not, there was no definite answer until Sam observed the box he kept about Bucky.
> 
> that box filled with "memories" were either real or just written by bucky.
> 
> if you guys are confused, the one who died is actually bucky's sister, Becca. this actually happened. and Sam blamed himself. 
> 
> ( message me on my twitter @/buckydotcom if you have any more questions about this poor quality of a story sdjsdk)


End file.
